Five Times
by jae-vous
Summary: Four times they almost get there, and the one time they do.


_**I've been busy working on a multi chapter fic, but it's taking up a lot of time that I don't have. I also don't want to post it unless I can actually finish it, so that's my excuse for not writing in a while. **_

_**This is simply a product of a snow day and a day off :p**_

_**jae**_

* * *

It's different from the first time they go undercover together.

They're a little older, a little wiser, and a little too aware of the feelings they don't ever share.

They're also being watched.

McGee's sharp intake of breath and Gibbs' exasperated sigh don't go unnoticed in their ears as he drags his lips from her mouth and down her neck; heating her skin with warm, desperate kisses that feel far too real for the charade they're putting on.

But if he's counting on her to keep him in control, he underestimates how weak her self-control when it comes to him really is.

She tries to keep one eye on the target over his shoulder as his hands grab desperately at the silk gown that is _this close_ to being torn off - by both of them, for that matter. It's always harder to concentrate with her partner around, but in situations like this, it's more than just her concentration that's compromised.

Her heart is hammering while he draws his lips from her collarbone to her mouth again, and she's kissing him fervently back, his lip between her teeth, when Gibbs gruff command resounds in their ears, and they each heave a sharp intake of breath against the other's mouths.

"The other is coming down the hall. Ziva - _now_."

They pull apart, breathing heavy; her eyes a little too dark, his, a little too bright. The intensity of the moment reaches breaking point. Naturally, he resorts to humor. She, back to the job at hand.

"To be continued?" He whispers, a smirk on his lips as he drags his hand up her thigh between them, retrieving the gun strapped high above her knee.

She tightens her fingers over the grip while keeping it hidden between them, and locks her eyes on the second man rounding the corner of the hall.

The safety clicks between their bodies, and he presses a final kiss against her neck as she stealthily moves around him, drawing the gun up and taking aim.

His gaze burns into her retreating back.

* * *

After roughly about nine hours of traveling, all they want to do is sleep.

And for a very long time.

She thinks she should try to warn her teammates, but they're far too busy bickering and they don't see the glint in Gibbs' eyes that screams irritation, nor the way his right eye is just slightly twitching in the dangerous way that spells impending punishment. Ziva herself is fed up with McGee and DiNozzo's constant bickering, having been sideline to it through the entire flight.

Ever since stepping off the plane in the Honolulu airport, she'd contemplated their accidental deaths, envisioning mostly freak accidents of them driving off the rocky edges of the island into the blue pacific waters. And if she's reading the look in Gibbs gaze right now correctly, he'd been picturing much the same.

Dusk is settling when they arrive at the base housing they've been allotted, and when they get inside and reach the hall that has the only two bedrooms; both on opposite ends, she can see their Bosses internal struggle on which of the two men would be the lesser of two evils to bunk with for the extension of their stay.

She grimaces internally when she sees his mind decide; the moment Tony utters his thirteenth _Magnum_ reference and trips McGee going up the stairs.

When Gibbs reaches the foot of the stairs, he grunts a sharp, "McGee, with me." Ziva suppresses a sigh, but exhales loudly enough that Gibbs leans close enough to her to brush his hand over her shoulder, and he's looking at DiNozzo directly when he utters a forceful, "Behave yourselves."

Tony grins cheekily in response, to which Ziva is prompted to push him down the hall in out of harm's way of a headslap that could potentially knock him unconscious.

She rounds on him with blazing eyes as they enter their bedroom, closing the door swiftly and forcefully behind her.

"What are you doing?" She whispers harshly at his back. He sets his bags down (and hers, and she spares a brief thought to when exactly he grabbed them from her to carry.) When he at last turns to her, all of the day's earlier obnoxious behavior seems to have evaporated; leaving a tired and slightly concerned look in its place. He takes a seat atop the mattress.

"After last time, I figured it'd be best if we were rooming together."

She deflates at the consideration in his voice, his look, and memory of the last over night mission washes over. Her hand falls from where it still grips the doorknob, and Tony smiles hesitantly. Leaning back against the pillows, he opens his arm out, patting the other side of the mattress next to him.

"Come here."

Letting her shoulders fall, she goes willingly; crawling over the mattress and next to him. She can feel the warmth radiating from his body before he wraps his arm around her, drawing her into his side.

She tucks her head under his neck, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat, the only sound that has the ability to ground her.

* * *

While the others can only guess as to how deeply Somalia affected her, he remains the only one to bear witness to it first hand.

He can see it in her face, her body language, and as much as it pains him that she all but physically recoils from him in the small, dark bedroom, his concern for her overrides his completely unjustified feelings.

But he can tell she has something to prove to herself, although it's completely unnecessary. She sheds her clothes before him, and he tries not let his eyes linger on the marks that are still healing all along her back.

He watches as her eyes scan the bed briefly; hardening with determination, and she moves to the left side of the bed, then points to him and then the right side.

"My side, your side."

He swallow roughly, watching the strap of her tang top slide down her arm as she shuffles under the sheets.

"Ziva, I can take the couch."

Her back is to him as her reply comes back muffled.

"Don't be stupid."

He gazes at her stiff back and sighs.

He wishes he could tell her the same thing, in a less harsher way.

When the inevitable happens, it's at the brink of three A.M. He's not sure what startles her nor what triggers the nightmare. All he knows is that he's coaxing her back to reality, and her eyes stare back at him for what feels like an eternity; eyes unseeing, long before she returns to reality.

Her screams are what wake him.

His calming voice, and gentle touch, are what finally wake her.

* * *

The next time they're undercover, they get their groove back, and then some.

He decided in Paris that red was his new favorite color on her, and he's pleased that the red dress she dons tonight only solidifies this fact. She's in a backless number, with a deep V cut down her front that plunges just far enough and leaves little to the imagination. And while he's playing bartender on this op, he knows that at the end of the night, there's a very good chance he'll be peeling off the little fabric that does cling to her.

All for the show, of course.

She allows the suspect they're keeping tabs on to twirl her once, twice, as the last detonating note of the song ends, and though the smile she shoots their suspect is only to lure their guy in, the one she turns on him as she makes her way across the room is the epitome of enigmatic.

He forgets to breathe for several seconds.

Gibbs voice echoes in their ears as she approaches the bar, and Ziva presses her hand to her jaw to cover her ear.

"Order a drink, Ziver. He's watching you."

Tony immediately sets down the rag and glass that he was drying, pulling a clean glass towards him and flips a liquor bottle in the air before him.

She rolls her eyes at his antics as she comes to stand before the bar, but her smile betrays her actual amusement. He gives her his award-winning grin, and sets down a mojito before her. Their fingers brush along the glass, and fire shoots through her arm.

"Enjoying the show?" She murmurs over the rim of her glass, bringing it to her lips for the smallest of sips. Tony arches his eyebrows over her shoulder briefly, alerting her to their incoming suspect that makes his way toward her, but leans in closely as he feigns reaching for a glass.

"Enjoying the view more."

He grabs a tumbler and slides it by her hand; the small bug ready and waiting to be placed on the bottom of the glass poised at the tip of her pointer finger. she sticks it just before their suspect reaches them, sliding his arm down Ziva's back and orders two fingers of bourbon that Tony delivers in the bugged glass.

All the while, Ziva's faint blush never leaves her face.

In fact, when their eyes lock once more, her blush only deepens.

He smiles to himself.

Yes, red was truly her color.

* * *

The night they hand in their badges; when they walk the catwalk one last time, clear their desks out, share the elevator with an oblivious McGee - she swears that their loaded looks weigh more, their shared, secret smiles are warmer, and the familiar tingle that flows through her body whenever they reach this point feels like an undiluted shot of adrenaline to her system; time and time again, they reach the line that toes on falling over the edge, or prolonging the inevitable.

When McGee parts ways with them in the parking lot, Tony gives her one more long, lingering look, and a smile that is all kinds of inviting, and every bit enticing.

Her answering look isn't no, but it isn't decided either. And they both have a mutual understanding. He winks, walking back to his car with a box in his hand and leaving a world of possibility in his wake. The familiar look in his expression though sticks with her, the one that tells her he is contemplating everything they could be, if only they'd take the leap.

Tonight, she makes the tired choice for the final time. With long mastered grace and decisiveness born of long practice, she turns down the choice they find themselves making time after time, nearly every hour of every day.

It doesn't take her long; only one week later to show up at his door, unannounced, but not altogether unexpected. She grants a minute after he opens the door to take in his smug smile and the gleam in his eyes that tells her she did exactly what he was expecting. She rolls her eyes briefly, and takes a long, deep breath (and a leap of faith.)

"Hello, Tony."

He shifts to lean against the door frame, and her eyes fall over the shadow of stubble that covers his jaw, his slightly wrinkled t-shirt, and his casual jeans that half cover his bare feet.

He is the picture of patience, and the epitome of good faith.

Leaning forward to hook a finger through his belt loop, she pulls him just slightly forward as his hands reach out to just barely settle against her hips.

Their faces are inches apart as she gazes up at him, and he watches her back expectantly; waiting as she deliberates what her next move will be.

When her lips at last capture his, he swears that for every kiss they share, it always feels like the first; the way his heart begins hammering and his chest explodes with warmth. He pulls her into his home and she's against his door before he's even drawn away for a breath.

The hand she presses into his chest draws him from her mouth, and he's not all that shocked to realize she's already reduced him to panting against her.

She gives him an indulgent smile that he leans down to kiss deeply back, and when he pulls away again he notices for the first time she holds a movie in her hand that might as well be titled _Pretense_.

"I was thinking that perhaps we could have a movie night?" She murmurs while looking up at him, and he searches for her hand, tightening his grip around her and giving her an award winning grin.

"The night is young." He pulls her away from the door, leading her into his home. He lets his eyes scan up and down her body, and raises his eyebrows in her direction.

"To be continued?"

Her smile lights her face, and this time, there is no mission, no undercover op, no pretense, and no acting.

He takes the smile as her answer, and her hand in his tightens just a little more.


End file.
